by Karen Kelly
She paused, debating whether or not to share how she had found Ron’s phone number, but decided that she could only be completely upfront with them. “I reached Rebecca’s daughter, Anemone, and she told me that anything handed down to Glenn would have gone to you, Ron.” Annie plucked up her courage and looked at Ron, hoping he would see her honesty.
“Hmmph,” Ron responded. “Becca wasn’t much for keepsakes.”
Elsa delicately sliced a carrot into small slices, her eyes on her plate. “Pop gave a wonderful scrapbook to Ron, made by his mother, Maude. It chronicles—”
“That’s enough, Elsa!” Ron snapped. “You don’t need to be so free with our personal things to a stranger!” His eyes darted over to Annie again. “How do we know who she really is?”
Lord, please give me the right words in the right order, Annie prayed silently, feeling like she was beginning to relate to Daniel in the lion’s den. Only this lion had salt-and-pepper hair instead of a tawny mane.
“Ron, I understand your reluctance,” said Annie. “If someone I didn’t know called me asking about my family’s personal heirlooms, I’d be extremely cautious too. I brought along both my Grandpa’s family Bible and William’s Bible. They’re in my car. I’d be happy to show them to you.” She looked over to Elsa, including her in her offer.
“I, for one, would love to see them!” declared Elsa. “The Atwater family is as dear to me as my own, and I’d like to know more of them.”
Ron’s response was a gravelly garumph, but since he didn’t shout at her, Annie took it as a positive response. Elsa gave her a smile of encouragement as she left the dining room to retrieve her keys from her purse.
Walking briskly toward her car, Annie wondered what was happening back in the dining room. Was Ron dropping his reticence to give his wife an earful? From what little she had experienced of Elsa’s spirit, Annie was satisfied the petite woman could wisely handle whatever Ron might pitch at her.
Annie grabbed the two Bibles from the passenger seat and returned to the house. During her brief absence the lunch dishes had been removed from the dining table, and in their place were dessert plates, small espresso cups, and a three-layered cake with chocolate frosting. She hesitated in the entrance of the room, wondering if she should bring the Bibles to the table or not. In her desire to convince Ron that she was, indeed, related to him and not just some pesky stranger from far away, Annie didn’t want to be impolite.
“I hope you like espresso, Annie,” said Elsa, holding a miniature silver espresso pot, “and apricot cream cake with chocolate mascarpone frosting. They’re family traditions for me.”
“It’s hard to find a coffee or chocolate creation I don’t like,” Annie replied. She thought perhaps if she kept focused on the dessert and didn’t look at Ron, she could enjoy the dessert.
Elsa turned to her husband. “Ron, would you prefer to look through the Bible as you eat, or after?” A needle of worry worked its way into Annie’s thoughts. Clear as a high-definition movie, Annie saw a large splash of espresso hit the old pages that meant so much to her. A gasp almost escaped from her until she remembered the Bibles were still in her hands. Maybe Ron won’t want to look at them yet.
Ron’s attention shifted to the Bibles. After a brief but heavy moment, he answered, “I’ll take a look at the one she says is the Holden Bible before I eat. The rest can wait until afterward.”
Annie placed the Bible in his hands and tried not to stare.
11
Ron pushed the delicate demitasse and plate toward the center of the table, clearing plenty of space for the large book to open. His fingers, gnarled yet powerful from decades of work, turned the pages with surprising gentleness. But his brows remained knit together like a storm front.
“Annie, are you ready for your espresso?” Elsa moved next to her.
Desperate for something—anything—to distract her, Annie gratefully said, “Yes.” The aroma of the dark, rich espresso braced her strained emotions. “Mmmm, it smells heavenly.”
Ron had found the Family Records pages and his eyes followed the branches of the Holdens as they flourished through decades and centuries. His eyes slowed as they came to William, Clayton, and Maude, taking in the details of Clayton’s descendants. Annie raised the cup to her lips, reminding herself to only take a sip. She knew she’d regret it if she took in too much of the strong brew at once.
Clearing his throat, Ron raised his eyes from the pages and closed the Bible. He stood, placed the Bible on the buffet table, and returned to his seat—all in silence.
Then abruptly, he said, “I’m ready for my cake and that fancy coffee.” As Elsa stood to serve the cake and fill his cup, Ron turned his attention to Annie. “Twin grandchildren, eh? Rare in our family line.” Elsa’s face broke into a dazzling smile as she placed generous slices of cake before Annie and her husband.
Annie, who had begun to picture Ron along the same lines as the cherubim and flaming sword God had placed at the entrance of the Garden of Eden, smiled from the inside out.
“Yes, Gram was tickled to learn she had two great-grandchildren. She had cross-stitched a beautiful birth record to frame for the baby and had been expecting to simply add the name and send it when the baby was born. Instead, she had an additional one to create.” She took a bite of the cake, remembering the poignancy of the gift. It had been the last cross-stitch Betsy had made, as far as she knew.
“So it was from your grandmother’s side you inherited your talent for handwork,” said Elsa, sitting down to enjoy her dessert and the lightened atmosphere.
Annie was busy marveling at the delicious combinations of flavors in Elsa’s cake. Almost reluctantly, she swallowed to answer.
“Yes, but Grandpa did his fair share of stitching, as well,” she told them. “He was a veterinarian. Elsa, this cake is a marvel. I’ve never had anything quite like it.” Her fork sheared off another bite-size piece.
“It’s one of my favorite recipes that I learned from my mother.” Elsa gazed down at her own slice with a gentle smile curving her mouth. “I can almost feel Mama standing next to me every time I make it.”
“I feel the same way when I use Gram’s rose-hip jelly recipe.” It almost amused Annie at how comfortable she felt with Elsa, the one who was not in her family line. It would take a small miracle to feel the same about silent Ron.
Her relative had put his silence to good use, Annie had to admit. He was already chewing the last bit of his cake. After swallowing, he grasped the demitasse in his strong hand to toss back the remaining “fancy coffee.” Annie found herself astonished the thin cup wasn’t crushed in his grip. He leaned back in his chair, looking slightly uncomfortable.
“Ron, would you like to take your grandmother’s scrapbook to the living room while Annie and I finish our cake?” asked Elsa. “And Annie’s Bibles too. Then we can relax in front of the fire with them.”
“Ayuh.” The glance between husband and wife contained a conversation, Annie knew. Ron retrieved the Bibles from the buffet and left the room.
“My late husband Wayne and I were like that too,” said Annie. “Silent discussion.”
“I used to think every married couple had that second language. When I realized how rare it actually is, I knew we were very blessed.”
As amazing as it seemed to Annie, who was struggling to share anything with her cousin, Annie couldn’t doubt Elsa’s sincerity. It had been as real and obvious as the delicious cake she was enjoying.
“Yes!” Annie stared into her demitasse. “It is something to treasure.”
The two women finished dessert in companionable silence, Annie wondering if she might ever have the blessing of a second “bilingual” marriage, and Elsa thinking back to when she and Ron had first begun to learn how to truly hear and see one another.
As Annie lowered her fork to the empty plate, she said, “Do you think we’ve given Ron enough time to peruse William’s Bible?”
“I believe we have.” Elsa stood an
d began collecting the empty dishes. “He will have been very careful with them, Annie. Ron’s always had a great respect for historical items. The bulk of his career has centered around the restoration of historical buildings, including Spurwink Church. You passed it on your way here. He has always looked far beyond mere building materials.”
Annie picked up the cake plate to carry into the kitchen. “If you’re as good at reading the minds of your students as you are reading mine, it must make for a very interesting school year for them.”
Elsa’s musical laugh filled the room. “I admit they rarely leave for the next grade unchanged, though not all of them are thrilled about it.”
Annie chuckled as she followed Elsa into the next room. Elsa asked her to cover the cake and put it into the refrigerator as she placed the plates and silverware in the dishwasher, and the cups in the sink to be washed later. That chore quickly accomplished, they joined Ron in the living room, where he was sitting back in one of the comfortable chairs with William’s Bible resting on his legs. A bulky, royal blue scrapbook rested on the ottoman.
Elsa waved Annie to the other chair. “Here, Annie. I think you’ll enjoy exploring Maude’s collection of memories. She collected things from all of her family, including William and your great-grandfather when he was young.” After Annie was settled into the chair, Elsa handed her the book and took the ottoman as her seat. While the ladies had been in the dining room, Ron had fed and stoked the fire, and it filled the room with friendly warmth.
Annie opened the scrapbook to the first page, which was titled “The Life and Times of Maude Holden Atwater” in finely wrought calligraphy.
“What beautiful calligraphy,” said Annie, contrasting Maude’s artistic script with the utilitarian and precise lettering of William’s notations.
“Isn’t it?” said Elsa. “It’s a fading art now. I hope the computerization of society won’t bring about a total extinction of such creative art forms.”
“She wrote in English too.” Ron had been so quiet that Annie almost jumped at his words. Turning toward him, she saw him squinting at the margins of the Bible somewhere in Isaiah.
“It certainly threw me for a loop, Ron,” she said. “After reading William’s letters to my grandfather, I’m determined to figure out why he chose to make those notes in Latin.” Annie considered sharing the translations of the words, but she realized Ron had not completely set aside his suspicions. And who could blame him? She didn’t want to risk losing the ground they had gained today and decided to keep on a more general level until more trust could be built.
She turned to the next page of the scrapbook. Centered on the page, a sepia photograph featured the three surviving siblings. William and Clayton were seated with Maude standing between them. William looked to be in his mid-teens and not particularly comfortable in his stiff collar, vest, and suit jacket. Clayton sported the same haircut as his older brother, neatly trimmed and parted in the middle, and he wore a pair of round glasses. Like her brothers, Maude wore dark colors, a skirt and bolero jacket in a plaid pattern and solid dark blouse. Her dark hair was also parted in the middle, a braid disappearing over her shoulder and a bow secured at the crown of her head.
“I haven’t seen this photo before!” Annie exclaimed. She bent over to get a closer look. “I do see some of Grandpa in each of them. And hints of Ron, as well.” The book she held was a storehouse of information. Annie skipped ahead, and there were more and more photographs of family gatherings, outings, formal events like graduations and newspaper clippings. “There’s so much!” she murmured to herself. She knew she could lose herself in the pages for hours.
She also knew Ron would become agitated if she did. He’d just huffed a breath of frustration, most likely with the lack of English notes in William’s Bible, and closed the book. What should she do?
Elsa leaned toward Ron and placed her hand on his arm. “Dear, now that you’ve had a chance to meet Annie and examine William’s and Charles’s Bibles, would you be comfortable lending her the scrapbook for a little while? Maude packed it full, and it would keep Annie here too long to try to read it all in one sitting.”
Ron’s eyes darted over to Annie, and then shifted back to his wife. He remained silently looking into her eyes for longer than Annie found comfortable, and her hope weakened. But Elsa calmly returned his gaze, her face peaceful and relaxed.
“I’ll leave my address and phone number,” Annie offered, “so you can always contact me. And I’d be glad to give you the contact information for both the Stony Point mayor and my minister, just in case.”
Finally, Ron jerked his head up and down once. “I suppose.” He turned to Annie. “Don’t let anything happen to it.”
Annie nodded eagerly. “I’ll treat it as the jewel it is, Ron. I can’t thank you enough for allowing me to look through this window into our family’s history.” She might have imagined it, but she thought the next look Ron gave her was missing the suspicion she had almost grown accustomed to seeing.
A little later, as Annie backed down the driveway and turned onto Spurwink Avenue, she marveled at the afternoon. Especially at how it had ended. Elsa had wrapped the scrapbook carefully in soft muslin fabric and placed it in a spare canvas bag. It sat on the passenger-side floor. Annie smiled as she passed the Spurwink Church where it basked in the last moments of sun, thinking of Ron’s involvement with its restoration. She couldn’t imagine meetings being exactly merry with him on the committee, but she was confident the building and its history were well served.
Ninety minutes later Annie was seated at the rolltop desk in Grey Gables’s library, the scrapbook open before her. Boots jumped into her lap as though to make herself comfortable but soon decided Annie’s movement as she leaned forward to examine something in the scrapbook more closely was too much to tolerate. Boots relocated to the reading chair, Annie barely noticing Boots’s presence in her fascination of what she saw and read.
Maude had been proud of her brothers. Notices, photos, and clippings of their achievements were given prominent adornments with her fine calligraphy. Annie saw high school, college, and law school graduation notices, marriage announcements, and William’s swearing in as a judge in Cumberland County. The captions Maude wrote under the different entries revealed a witty, observant girl, and later, woman. Annie’s first priority was to absorb whatever information she could about William and his work, but she told herself she would not neglect the rest of the treasures in Maude’s book as soon as she had solved the mystery.
Her focus was rewarded when she turned a page and found a clipping from the Portland Press Herald.
Trial Begins for Accused Arsonist
Portland, Maine—The trial of Italian immigrant Dante Bianco is scheduled to begin today, September 9, 1929. Bianco is accused of setting fire to the Lithuanian ship Song of Laima, which was carrying wood pulp and was docked in Portland on March 16. The fire resulted in the death of sailor Vilhelmas Kazlauskas. Judge William Holden is presiding.
Annie stopped cold. She remembered the Latin word, carmen, that Reverend Wallace had translated for her: song. It was paired with Laima, the Latvian name of the goddess of fate. The song of Laima, she thought. Is fate guiding me now?
Then Annie looked again at the name of the accused man. Bianco. She remembered enough Spanish to know that blanco meant “white.” White, like the Latin word for white—albus—a word in her uncle’s notations she hadn’t associated with anything else. Dante Bianco was Italian. Grabbing her laptop, she quickly linked to the Internet and found an Italian-English translator and typed “bianco” into the Italian field and clicked “Translate.” She nearly jumped out of her seat when “white” popped into the English field.
“This must be it!” Annie exclaimed in her excitement, drumming a little victory rhythm on the desk. Boots raised her head off her paws at Annie’s outburst. “Now we have a lead rope to guide us. Thank you, Maude!”
12
Annie wished she had bothered to w
rap a scarf around her neck before dashing out of the house. As soon as she emerged from the car on the way to the Hook and Needle Club meeting, the wind whisked down inside her coat like a vexatious squirrel—except a squirrel would have been warmer. It didn’t help that the Christmas shopping season brought more traffic and fewer open parking spaces. Annie had had to park on a side street.
How can you complain about brisk business in Stony Point? Annie chided herself. Next time don’t forget the scarf! She walked just below the speed of a trot as she rounded the corner of Oak Lane onto Main. It might be frigid compared to anything she’d experienced when living in Texas, but Annie did love the winter wonderland beauty of her Maine home.
She waved to Addie, the store clerk at Dress to Impress, through the shop’s window which was bordered with evergreen garland and white lights, and then she swerved around the street lamp which was wrapped in wide red ribbon. Ribbon provided by Mary Beth, no doubt.
A Stitch in Time came in sight, a mecca of warmth and camaraderie. Annie yanked open the door, daring the cold to follow her as she scooted inside and pulled the door shut behind her. Glancing around for Mary Beth or Kate, she didn’t see any sign of them.
Next to the front counter several boxes were stacked higher than the cash register. As Annie walked by, she heard rustling behind the boxes. Pausing in her steps, she turned to peer over them.
“Good morning, Mary Beth!” Annie greeted her friend.
The storeowner had both her hands elbow deep in one of the boxes. The closest thing to a shriek Annie had ever heard from Mary Beth echoed off the wall, and her head popped up.
“Oh! Annie, you caught me woolgathering.” Mary Beth raised her arms out of the box, shaking shredded paper from two skeins of yarn—wool yarn. The two women shared a laugh-moan at the pun. “The shelves were empty after the weekend! It’s a good thing Kate had already put in a large order.”
